Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Halloween. It's supposed to be a fun time for everyone - kids consume a disgusting amount of candy, which causes temporary joy and permanent nausea and dental diseases, and adults consume a disgusting amount of alcohol, which can cause a lifetime of guilt, regret, and often herpes. What's not to love? Well me being me, Halloween and I have somewhat of a love/hate relationship. I want to love it so bad, but it usually hates me. I just have bad luck with it. 4 years ago I was sick and stayed home. 3 years ago I had an away football game. 2 years ago I had plans fall through that I may or may not have driven 3 hours away for, and this year I am still socially inept and had no real options but to spend it with my 4 girls - Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia. They are the greatest; truly golden. I also decided to go out and buy an obnoxious amount of candy corn, which was consumed in it's entirety. And I'm not sorry for that. I truly look forward to next Halloween and what it has to offer. Maybe I'll get crazy and go see a movie. Who knows what I'm capable of?

In all seriousness, being alone has given me some time to reflect on life. And those who know me well know that when I reflect on life, I reflect on how horrible people are doing at running theirs and how it would be so much better if they would let me do it for them. So naturally, I came up with a few topics, one of which is "FRENEMIES."

The trend of having a frenemy has become increasingly common; it seems like more women have a circle of frenemies than a circle of friends. What is a frenemy, you may ask? Wikipedia (naturally my first resource) defines it very clearly.

"Frenemy" (alternately spelled "frienemy") is a portmanteau of "friend" and "enemy" which can refer to either an enemy disguised as a friend or to a partner who is simultaneously a competitor and rival.

They go into a lot of detail, whereas I feel that the term is just another word for 'bitch.' Ladies, why do you need the frenemy? You just make yourself look like a dumbass. You can say you are "best friends" all you want to, but when you fight every other weekend and always talk about it to everyone but each other, are you really friends? I feel that you all need to reevaluate your priorities and friendships and get rid of your frenemies. It will improve your life, and it will greatly improve mine because I will no longer have to listen to your bitching and I can focus on more important things. Like Glee. Or my $40 dry cleaning bill.

On another note, I feel that I should also bring something else to our attention. Whenever you change cities, schools, jobs, or sexual orientations, you will no doubt gain a different circle of friends. Actually, not always (look at me) but most likely. Anyway, when you're sharing all of the details of your new and extravagant life, there are a few things that must be remembered. When you're going to a school like I did back home, everyone knows who everyone else is; so, whenever you are talking about someone, there's no need to say "my friend Bob" or "my professor Gladys." Well when you are going to school 2000 miles away from each other, IT IS IMPERATIVE TO GIVE THESE PEOPLE TITLES. If you go off rambling saying "Well then I went with Linda to the movies and then we met up with Jim and well, you know how that went ;) and then we went and hung with the group at IHOP." There are just so many things wrong with this sentence.

#1. If you say it like that, I assume that I should already know who these people are, and if I don't, I think I've gone crazy. This can result in high stress, anxiety, and antidepressant bills. Say "my friend Linda" or "my buddy Jim." It just helps me out so much more.

#2. I'm gonna need explicit detail. I've never seen these people and I am never around you, so please give me an insight to your life.

#3. Actually, disregard rule #2. By this point I'm already so annoyed that I don't give a shit about your life and just want to stop talking to you altogether.

See! By following one simple rule, you can avoid all of the conflicted emotions that your dumb ass caused me in the first place.

So I'm finally in Boston. I've been here for a month, and I had a little higher expectations for it, I'm not gonna lie. I fully expected to be getting mildly tipsy at 10:35 PM on Thursday nights with a new group of good looking, humorous friends. Instead, I'm in polar bear print pajama pants, sitting here listening to a Glee song and blogging. If I start to feel crazy on the weekends, I may go to a movie alone or venture down the street and get a *venti* latte from Starbucks instead of a grande. I know, I know...I'm bold. I feel like this was what the ancient Greeks were talking about when they were defining the word "tragedy." I've never been amazing at making friends fast (it's been a lifelong process for the 2-4 that I have) but I FULLY EXPECTED TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES MYSELF TO TALK TO BY NOW. I sometimes go days without hearing my own voice, which I feel is not normal. I refuse to come home at Christmas and be the friend who went away to the best college and came back with no friends. And if that happens, I may take various and sundry pics around Boston and photoshop random Berklee people into the pictures. You call it creepy, I call it clever. Tomato to-mah-to. I've applied for jobs, been to different churches, tried striking up the random conversation with the person sitting next to me in class, and I've even stooped to the point of adding people that I may or may not have talked to but seen on the street. May or may not. My friends ask me if I've met any cool people, and when I say no, they say "Well go talk to people! Go make friends!" Oh ok. What a great idea. Why haven't I thought of that? LET ME GO STAND AT THE BUS STOP IN THE CONGREGATION OF HOMELESS PEOPLE WITH MY "WILL WORK FOR FRIENDS" SIGN.

The Berklee brochure should have prepared me for this.

Now aside from the whole social life fiasco, Berklee is actually BAD ASS. I feel like I have already grown so much as a musician and especially as an instrumentalist, and plan to stay here for the rest of my college years, which are hopefully socially fruitful.

On another subject, LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING.

Over the years, I've been the go-to guy for advice, which I LOVE, because quite honestly, I give bad ass advice. How I know so much about everything, I'll never know. Some people are good looking, some people have numerous talents, and some people know everything. There aren't many of these people in our world, but luckily, I am one of them. And, lucky for you, you know me. Anyway, whether it is a boyfriend problem, a clothing problem, a parental problem, or which drink to get at Sonic (in my opinion, the biggest problem of our generation), they come to me. And I don't mind at all. WHAT KILLS ME IS WHEN YOU ASK AND THEN DON'T DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO. In our high school history classes, we learn not to repeat the mistakes of others so we can spare ourselves some trouble in our own lives. HELLO?!?!?! Learn from the mistakes of many others, which was not listening to me, and LISTEN TO ME. ESCUCHAME, if you aren't a native speaker of English. See, I even give advice in various languages. Anyway, I just feel that if you trust someone enough to ask their advice, then you need to trust their advice and trust that it will help your life out in a positive manner. What's even worse is when people act like they're going to take the advice, and then do the opposite. HELLO. I KNOW EVERYTHING. I WILL EVENTUALLY FIND OUT. AND DISOWN YOU. So at this point, I've decided to tell people to do the opposite of what I actually think they should do, and then they will actually do what should be done in the first place. If you're having trouble following, it's ok. I'm having trouble following myself.

I believe the above paragraph encompasses the major problem with today's world, and when it is rectified we will finally be at peace with each other. You're welcome, John Lennon; your dream of peace will finally be achieved when the dumbasses of the world (and my friend circle) decide to listen.

Friday, May 28, 2010

I just spent 30 minutes typing out a blog entitled "10 Things I Hate About....Everyone." It even had a cool picture of the movie poster "10 Things I Hate About You." But I just wasn't feeling it. Which is sad, because I have been planning it for months. But it was just super negative and I meannnn it's just not one of those moods. This blog might be anticlimactic and not funny at all, but ha...who am I? Is that even possible?

All my life, I've been called Little Ryan. I can't even count the number of people who have bestowed that nickname upon me. Even now, almost 20, people still call me. I'll say something semi-controversial at work and later I'll hear "Did little Ryan really say that?" And I mean that's ok. It differentiates me from other people. Other Ryans. But I've just always wondered why people call me that. It could be because I look like a 14 year old, or because I have always always ALWAYS, with the exception of the last year, spent the majority of my time with friends that were older than me. It's never bothered me, and it doesn't bother me now, but it just makes me wonder. Does almost everyone I come across think of me as the little brother figure?

I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Boston after two long days of apartment hunting. I tried to find one on the internet for months, but I just feel like if you are going to rent a 10x10 200 year old studio apartment for $1300 that is possibly going to need fumigation every month, you need to see it in person. I'm just kidding about fumigation. Possibly once a semester. Anyway, this was the last piece of the puzzle that makes up the next major step in my life. I have a school, an apartment, and a loan that's worth more than my life haaaaaallol. I sometimes wonder if I'm ready. I have always worked so hard, ever since high school, to make sure that people take me seriously. My senior year, I worked on our yearbook for at least 3 hours every day, sometimes more, just so my teacher would see that I was different from most of the others and I wasn't going to expect anyone to carry it through to the end. Working at WIPP has shown me that sometimes you really have to change different aspects of your personality at this age to show that you are to be taken seriously and you aren't just a pushover who will get anyone's coffee. I have worked every day to try to be as professional as I know how to be, and in some aspects I think it has paid off, but in others, I'm not sure it has. Is it worth changing some of the best parts of your personality, like the witty jokes, the absurd sense of humor, and even just the "fun" parts just to be taken as seriously as the men 7 levels above you?

I'm not going to lie, moving to Boston scares me. Being at TTU and in Carlsbad has given me some freedom, but I still have all of the positive aspects of my life. My family is close, it wasn't expensive, and I had my very best friend either a 5 minute walk away from my dorm or home almost every weekend. Now, I'll be the farthest away with no one around. And sometimes, that's ok with me. I can be alone and be fine, as long as I'm alone in my room or alone in a house, or at the river or something like that. But it's always been hard for me to be alone when I'm around a crowd of people. I've never been good at making friends when I don't have my other friends around. That worries me, but also excites me, because I know I will force myself to go out and talk to people. I've never really felt the need to do this before, because I've always had everyone I've needed.

Having to go out and fend for myself makes me wonder: am I ready? Will people take me seriously? In my head, I have been ready for a long time. But I wonder if I'll still be "little Ryan" or if I'll just be Ryan.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Let me paint you a picture. A picture of 5 adults driving to Roswell in a silver BMW coupe, with yours truly sitting in the middle back seat. Between two 6'3" behemoths. For 70 miles. I went with my good friend and his parents and cousin/uncle/nephew/some type of older homophobic racially inhibited male family member to Roswell for dinner and a movie. It was a good time. At one point, his dad (who was sitting on my right) asked his mom what was playing on her iPod, and she looked and said some song by someone named "Cleetus." He then said "Isn't that the name of a lady's intimate parts?" to which she responded "No, I don't think so." He says "I was never very good at anatomy" and she replies "I'm very aware."

Oh, what an eventful first 5 miles that was. It was my first parental verbal near-pornographic experience, and I don't think I will ever want to experience that again. After that conversation, the other guy, who's name is Van by the way, starts talking about his various assortment of shirts, one of which has a big "No Homos" on the front. He also swears he has no problem with "the Mexicans" but if you have to say it, you do have a problem! Really? You're named after a car. I could go on about that alone for days.

Easter weekend is coming up. Easter in my family has always been our holiday. Some people are big on Christmas, some 4th of July (hey Neal family!!), but for us, it's Easter. It's always an adventure. Last Easter my grandma got so mad at one of the cousins she hit him over the head with a pot full of chili hot off the stove. I can't wait to see how she tops this one! I'm sure she's been brainstorming.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Some people are scared of death. I've always said that I'm not scared to die, I'm just scared of how I die. If I'm going to go in my sleep, then that's fine. If I'm going to go in a car crash during the driver's sleep, that's not ok. Death can be a sad subject, but today I found some humor in it. Today at work, I was eavesdropping on a conversation between two of my office buddies (which is what I spend most of my time doing), and I overheard one woman talking about her relatives. I'm always interested in the family drama of others, so I decided to listen closer. She said, "We already have places for Dad and Grandpa, and now we are just looking for one for Grandma. She's always been very picky." I thought to myself, wow, how sad. She has a full time job and she is trying to take care of 3 people, all of which will soon be in nursing homes. NO. NO MA'AM. THIS IS NOT THE CASE. "Dad," "Grandpa," and "Grandma" are dead. Dead and cremated. They are currently sitting on her mantle, and now Grandma is coming to join them. Who does that?! Why would you keep your dead ass relatives in your house? Does that not weird anyone else out? I'm all for cremation. It will save money on a casket and it'll save some space in the cemetary (unless it's currently blocking out your knick knacks above the fireplace). Part of me is grateful, because now I know they won't be spreading the ashes and I won't get a taste of Grandma's thigh in my mouth when I'm running at the beach, but also, part of me is now very, very scared. What if I ever have to go to her house? I can't carry on a conversation with essence of Grandma floating freely throughout the living room. I think TI had it right in his song "Dead and Gone." Once you're dead, you should be gone! We all remember what happened in the dinner scene of "Meet the Parents." Nothing good comes from dead people.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

So my best friend had this idea for us to start blogs with some of our other friends, and I thought it was bad ass. Some of them didn't like it, but that's because our stories are more interesting. Some times. Augusta started calling me 'North' the other day because she said she got sick of seeing the name 'Ryan' in her inbox. Part of me thought it was a fun name, and then part of me wanted to say "I hate you for hating my name," but I decided to go with the first part of me. Hence the "North Pole."

As everyone knows, I came back home this semester to work in an office 9.5 hours every single day to earn just enough money to go to Berklee and take out $200,000 in student loans. I feel it was a smart decision. My office isn't really like the offices you see in movies. It's not bustling, it's not very loud, people aren't dressed up in business suits and pencil skirts. It's almost always silent, people are usually cursing, and some people may or may not have worn the same jacket for approximately 75 days now. When I got there, I didn't wean them on my humor slow enough, and that may have been a bad decision, but oh well. There is a lady named Susan who makes cakes on everyone's birthday, and when she asked me what I want in mine (like filling), I told her. In hindsight, it may have been a bad idea to say "strippers", but it was the first thing that came to mind. I thought it was hilarious, but she kind of walked away and looked terrified. I still don't know why, but I kept those thoughts to myself from then on. Then there is Sonia. She reminds me alot of myself. When I first met her, I got the vibe that she wanted nothing to do with me unless it involved my total destruction (which might be why she reminds me of myself), but now, we are best friends. We talk about American Idol every Wednesday and Thursday, and when I told her today that Sandra Bullock and Jesse James were splitting up, we had a moment of silence in her honor.
One thing that gets me, though, is that everyone there thinks my OCD tendencies are soooo funny. Yes, I color coordinate my folders. Yes, I give you red and black if I hate you because those are the colors of Satan, and yes, I gave everyone green folders on St. Patricks Day because I have holiday spirit. I may spend 30-45 minutes rearranging the tiles on our sign out board so that they are all together, or picking up all the spare shreds of paper off the carpet, but is that really a crime?

I kind of want to dedicate a little part of every blog to a random subject that I have strong feelings about, because Chelsea Handler has an article like that and I'm not ashamed to admit I idolize her, although you might be ashamed to be my friend after finding that out!! Today, I want to talk about fat people who think they're skinny.
Now, I don't discriminate against fat people. OVERWEIGHT people, excuse me. They don't bother me at all. What bothers me is when they let their fat hang over their pants and out of their shirt like we want to look at it. I have a problem with that. I'd have a problem if a skinny person let their shirt come up and show their happy trail. I don't want to see anything on your body that is remotely disgusting. One instance that comes to mind is an incident I had at a restaurant called Happy's one day. Well let me tell you, Happy's now makes me very, very sad. I went in, innocently ordered my hamburger and milkshake, and sat down. As I started to take a bite of my burger, I saw it. A couple. A couple that definitely should have been wearing more layers of clothing. Like I said, I love fat people. They're just as human as the next person. But when I'm eating and your hairy stomach flab is hanging out of your shirt, I want to pounce on you and rip your heart out. Girls, a tip. If you have a happy trail, shave it. Wax it. Laser it off. Like the restaurant Happy's, a happy trail on a girl will make men very, very sad. I'm trying to help you.

You may be wondering what makes me think I can say all of this stuff. "Why does he think he's sooo attractive?" Well, you can never base your attactiveness off of the looks of yourself. You base it off of the attractiveness of the people you have hooked up with in the past. And I've never gone below a 7.5, THEREFORE you need to listen to me. Take the women up there for example. I'm sure they are wonderful people. And yes, they are overweight. That's fine. My question is WHY IS THE WOMAN ON THE LEFT GRABBING THE STOMACH OF THE OTHER WOMAN? Soooo inappropriate. Don't be them. Also, I don't think it's inappropriate to use the word 'fat' when referring to fat people. There is a woman I work with who weighs at least 300 lbs. and she called herself fat today. So take it up with her.

I think that's all for today. Take my advice. If you think you're hot, don't go off of that. Post a pic on the internet and let other people decide for you.